


Fireflies

by CaptainCrozier



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Extended Metaphors, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, Loneliness, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Content, Smut, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCrozier/pseuds/CaptainCrozier
Summary: As the men prepare to abandon ship Fitzjames attends Terror late one evening to discuss plans but finds a despondent Crozier locked within his cabin. At first he assumes the bleakness of their situation has lowered his mood but as he attempts to cheer him up he discovers the truth that is Francis' loneliness; a lifetime unloved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It was supposed to be PWP, feelings snuck in and it grew.

The cold walk had done nothing to improve his mood, the mile long trek between ships in the dark, leaving behind him the lanterns of _Erebus_ and guided by the lights of the _Terror_. The sun had barely set though it was past six bells, but he suspected by the time his meeting with Francis was over it would be daylight again and almost impossible to sleep. Still it had to be done, there was so much to attend to. Fitzjames trudged past the half-loaded whale boats and up the plank to the frozen deck, the current watch stepping aside from the hatch to let him into the bowels of the ship. Once he had shirked off his freezing slops he headed to the Great Cabin with every intention of warming himself by the brazier and complaining bitterly to his fellow captain over a hot brew.

Crozier’s bloody steward blocked his path.

 ‘What day of the week is it, Mr Jopson?’ Fitzjames asked curtly.

‘Thursday, Sir. Thursday the twentieth of April.’

‘Then as you know there is much I need to discuss with your Captain before we walk out on Saturday, time is very much of the essence, now move aside.’

The steward managed if anything to back closer to the door to the Great Cabin and jammed his path entirely.

‘Can it not wait until morning, sir?’ he said quietly.

James felt his eyes widened at his impudence, ‘What in…? For Christ’s sake, man, step aside at once!’

‘Captain’s asked not to be disturbed by anyone, sir,’ Jopson said somewhat steelily.

‘I am not included in that number,’

‘Begging your pardon sir, but… yes…. you are.’

Fitzjames glared into the depths of Jopson’s pale blue eyes with all the outraged authority he could muster. The boy did not even flinch. For a moment they inched closer in silent challenge until an uneven wooden thunk announced the presence of Mr Blanky in the corridor. It seemed that Francis had summoned forth his guarddogs _en masse_.

‘Seems to me ‘e could do wi’ a bit o’ peace, James,’ Thomas suggested as he approached, ‘Let ‘im be t’night that’s my advice.’

‘Peace!? We have not time for peace and I have not traversed the ice at this hour to be sent back unfulfilled! He will speak with me, at once!’

‘Now, now, nobody’s bein’ sent back into the cold ‘ere, come and have a seat by the stove and…’

‘I will sit in the Great Cabin!’ James seethed, ‘Wherein I will discuss our plans for this week in detail with your Captain, as has been arranged now for some days, we have an appointment  as well you both know and if he has not the courtesy to postpone politely I am damned if I am leaving without him having the decency to at least admit me!’

Blanky and Jopson exchanged a look.

‘Thing is…’ Blanky started.

‘Captain’s not well,’ Jopson, said softly, ‘He’s… indisposed.’

Fitzjames felt the dread spill o’er his heart like treacle, suffocating, black and slow. The words stopped in his throat with a click. He passed a hand over his face and softened his tone.

‘Oh Christ, he hasn’t has he, what is it this time, gin? Rum?’

Jopson flushed indignantly, ‘Captain Crozier has not so much as supped a drop since his illness, sir…’

‘Then what? You say he is unwell…’

‘It’s his spirit, James… and not the kind that comes in a bottle,’ Blanky said lowly with a glance to the solid door.

‘It can happen to a person, when they give up the drink,’ Jopson said sadly.

‘And to Francis more than most,’ Blanky rejoined, ‘his temperament being of a melancholic kind, he… he just needs a bit ‘o time, a bit o’…’

‘We do not have time!’ James spat, ‘For his melancholy or his self indulgence. Lord the way you are speaking I had thought him half moribund within those walls and now you mean to tell me that it is only that he sits there licking his wounds in self pity, get out of my way! I will deal with this!’

From behind the door came the soft slide of a bolt withdrawn from its hold. All three men stared at the panel of wood which hid the sound and then two sets of eyes were upon James.  He heard himself swallow, a knot of anxiety in his gut, but for what reason he could not fathom.

‘Don’t go upsetting him,’ Blanky growled.

Sparing a glance at an equally hostile if somewhat more polite Jopson, James pushed into the Cabin.

 

 

It was utterly dark and he could only conclude that Francis had found his way to the lock by memory alone. Even the fire in the wood burner had died to the faintest of embers.

‘Francis?’

The sound of a chair scraping on the planks beneath, ‘Sit down,’ Crozier said gruffly.

‘I’m inclined to think I may break a limb _en route_ ,‘  James said.

A sigh, ‘Chrissakes James it is the same layout as your own room, you can find your bloody way well enough.’

‘Stop being an ass and light a lamp, Francis,’ James said, resolutely by the door. His eyes were adjusting now a little and by the faint streak of light which edged its way in from the corridor he could see the shape of Francis hunched by the table. For a brief second he thought Jopson was mistaken and the man must be drunk after all, perhaps stashed a secret supply of liquor under his bed and imprisoned himself in the dark to drink it down.

‘ _James!_ ’

‘ _Lamp._ ’

‘Fine… fine….’ Another scraping sound and the shadow before him rose and stomped off in the direction of his berth. James waited, a match was struck and a flickering light streamed forth from the tiny sleeping space. Crozier emerged, the lamp casting black streaks of darkness into the hollows of his cheeks and perverting his heavy features. He glared at James over the flame.

‘Happy now?’ he grumbled, plopping the thing down on the only level surface in the room.

‘Delirious,’ James said and finally took the proffered chair before him. The pair sat in silence, the lamp between them and the ropes suspending the table casting prison bar shadows on the walls.

Everything had been packed, save the charts under Francis’ gloved hands. He slumped over the table, his left fingertips somewhere in Lancaster Sound and his right steepled on his forehead. James looked about. Francis had never been one for decoration, his Cabin always bare compared with Sir John’s much plusher surroundings but now the room looked frankly barren. Two crates of something or other were nailed shut and stacked in one corner, but all else was clear. No paperwork, no books, even the chessboard was gone. James looked back at the table. No glass, no decanter. Not drunk then.

‘We had an appointment,’ James said.

‘I meant to send a message and cancel,’ Francis told the charts, ‘Time… must have run away with me. I’m sorry.’

James raised an eyebrow at that. It was true that since his illness Francis had been a somewhat more approachable and more even-tempered man but he had expected more irritation than this. Each night they met this way would inevitably begin with an exchange of nit-picking, eye rolling and exasperation only to be thrashed out and mellowed until the pair of them were side by side discussing plans in earnest and most clearly reading from the same page. It was a ritual. He was flummoxed without it.

He hated to admit it but he had come to rather enjoy these little conferences, they were the highlight of increasingly awful days. They got him away from _Erebus,_ allowed him to unburden his command and there was solace to be found in their strange friendship; because it was friendship now, he suspected, although Francis could be as prickly as ever. After the horror that was carnivale James had realised quickly that there was a stalwart kindness beneath Francis’ brusque ways and he was increasingly willing to ride the one out to find the other. Tonight, after Blanky and Jopson’s odd little display, he had braced himself for something of a petty token argument, about propriety and decorum and respect for fellow Captains and the urgency of their business, and then things would carry on as before and they’d be drinking tea and measuring coastlines. But nothing of the sort transpired. Here Francis sat, morose and repentant and unengaging. I’m sorry, he had said without prompting, so unlike Francis it fairly baffled his second. Baffled and what’s more, disappointed him.

In all the years they had been adversaries FItzjames would have delighted to see Francis apologise for something. Anything. And yet somehow now he felt rather saddened to be in receipt of contrition without even a moments tussle.

He sat back in his chair, ‘Well, I suppose that’s all right,’ he said lamely, ‘We’ve all been very busy…’

Francis sighed.

‘Should we, make on then?’ James ventured, ‘Now that I am here, ‘I brought the inventories?’

‘I am sure you have them in order, James.’

Silence.

‘You don’t wish to check them? You have been the very paragon of efficiency of late, a sharp and measured eye on every task, you don’t want to…?’

‘No,’ Francis said quickly, then, ‘thank you.’

James’ eyebrows floated higher. Usually flattery got him everywhere.

‘You trust that I have completed the checks correctly?’ he pressed.

‘I do.’

James looked about the room again, as though to appeal to a crowd, but of course there was only him, the unmoving bulk of his commander and the darkness. Even Neptune had taken it upon himself to move somewhere more welcoming.

‘I won’t keep you,’ Francis said softly, ‘Go and warm up on the main deck, have Diggle heat you some biscuits.’

‘Francis...’

‘Go on,’ Crozier said, his voice flat, ‘I’m no company tonight.’

James stared at him. And then he saw it.

In the dim light of the lamp he caught the glimmer of a tear, slowly tracking its way down Francis’ cheek.

Something like horror spilled through him. Crozier was a Captain in the Discovery Service, not some weeping girl. The world turned on its head at such an occurrence, what in Hell’s name had happened?

‘Francis? Good Lord, man, what is it?’

There was a sniff and a quick movement as Crozier blinked back the wetness and swiped at his face with the rough glove he wore. He vanished again behind his palm, head bowed. On impulse, James reached for the hand that rested still upon the charts but then it vanished too, withdrawn to Crozier’s body and tucked against his chest.

‘Please go,’ Francis said softly.

‘I cannot leave you here like this, what ails you, man?’ James said, surprised to hear the note of panic in his voice, ‘Is it the men? Our preparations? Christ, I know things are…’ he stopped. There was not really a word for how things were. For all his planning he had tried very hard not to think on it, but rather attempted to absorb himself in the minutiae of his inventories and packing. He suspected Francis had done the same, judging by the empty cabin, but Lord there was only so much a man could do without the truth of it catching him eventually. Perhaps Francis had reached that point. Slowly James drew his hand back from the chart until King Williams Land sat before them by the uncharted North West Passage.

‘Francis you are not alone with this burden,’ he said at last, ‘We bear this together and… and I would have you speak to me, if it would help?’

Crozier swiped at his running nose with the back of his glove and shifted uncomfortably. Something in the helpless childlike gesture touched James and he ferreted a handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it across the map. Not wanting to make the man more uncomfortable he rose and as though to stretch his legs crossed to the window while Francis blew his nose loudly behind him and snuffled. James’ lip twitched briefly at the noise as he inspected the ice and the aurora and then he felt the muscles of his face fall again.

In the distance he could see _Erebus_ but only the faintest outline highlighted by her lamps. They were almost inconsequential in the darkness, but they spoke of life within. He imagined his men on deck at watch, their lanterns, their movements and their chatter, but in an hour or two the sun would rise and the ship would be but a shadow unilluminated, a great white form lost to the ice, barely perceptible from the landscape as the snow gathered on her masts and decks. Soon evening would not exist at all and endless day would obliterate the sanctity of night. It was odd to associate the loss of darkness with the loss of all trace of man, surely with light there should be hope, but there it was.

‘We are like fireflies,’ James muttered.

‘What?’

‘The men,’ he cleared his throat, tried to instil some strength to his voice again, ‘you see them from here e’en in darkness by their lamps, but by morning…’

‘By morning there is nothing,’ Francis confirmed behind him.

‘Soon there will be only daylight, Francis. These are our last nights.’

For a moment silence, then -

‘Yes, James…. They are.’

It was the first time he had heard un-tempered hopelessness spoken in that Irish brogue.  James pressed his lips together and resisted the urge to question further. He had long suspected Francis buried himself in work to bolster his own morale so that he might apply a balm to that of the men, but he knew that in truth Francis had more experience than any and that the veracity of their situation could not have passed him by. So here he sat, always alone, in the darkness of his cabin, trying to hide his fear and certainty that all was truly lost. Trying to gather himself sufficiently to lead them out upon a journey that at best had poor odds and at worst was doomed. James realised with a start that each of their evening meetings had been part of Francis’ strategy. To nurse his inexperienced second through his first arctic expedition, to keep him occupied with plans. To give him his share of hope.

‘Christ I am a fool,’ James breathed and finally looked back to where Francis sat. ‘Blanky blames your temperament, you know,’ he added, ‘And Jopson seems to think this is part of your recovery from the spirits, this… this… melancholy.’

Francis looked up at him openly.

‘This isn’t melancholia is it, Francis? Or self-indulgence as I so cruelly surmised…’ James said.

‘And what makes you say that?’ Crozier asked gently.

‘Because it is _justified,_ Francis, because it has cause,’ he glanced back at the shadow of _Erebus_ and then past her to the great white nothing that stretched for miles and miles. It hit him with all the force of a wave. Christ they would all die here, and never be found. Every light would be extinguished, every man lost. ‘Francis, we will never leave this place…’ his voice cracked.

Behind him Francis rose and stepped with a soft echo to his side, one arm tracing up his back. ‘Don’t,’ he said in a quiet voice tinged with command, ‘No good comes of it, James. No good at all… I should know.’

‘We…’

‘Shh, enough…’ the hand made sweeps between his shoulder blades and as though strengthened by the motion of giving comfort, James saw Francis’ posture alter, straighten and fill, though his cheeks were still damp with fallen tears.

‘Tell me, James,’ he said at last, his voice unnaturally clear in the empty room, ‘If this was to be your last night, how would you choose to spend it?’

James took a breath and turned away from the windows at last. ‘I would spend it, Francis, with a good friend and a glass of gin.’

Crozier’s lopsided smile was a frail and uncertain thing in the pale light of the cabin, but smile he did, bashful as a boy. ‘The gin I can provide,’ he said, ‘The friendship too, if you’ll have me.’


	2. Chapter 2

James was on his knees rummaging in the back of Crozier’s abandoned drinks cupboard. The evening was turning out to be rather jolly after all. Strange to think that a man as low in spirits as Crozier nevertheless seemed to have an odd ability to lift the mood of any troubled man in close proximity. James had seen it often enough with the ships boys and the sick and of late, the crew’s faith in their Captain seemed to have surpassed their admiration even of sir John. A sober Crozier was a capable man. James glanced over his shoulder to where Francis sat contemplating his cuticles with a furrowed brow. Capable but still haunted by a queer sort of loneliness even in company.  Even in _his_ company. Perhaps he was losing his touch. He’d tell him a story, he decided, as he moved aside a bottle of abandoned rum, just as soon as he found more gin.

‘Are you sure there’s another bottle?’ he called.

‘It’s definitely there, James, I can’t abide the stuff.’

A clank.

‘Ah! Found it!’ James said triumphantly and scooted backwards with the gin in hand, unopened, untasted and slightly dusty. ‘You sure you don’t mind me opening this?’ he asked politely.

‘Well it is not coming with us,’ Francis said.

‘Hmm,’ James pushed up from the deck, his knees grumbling and a small ‘offt’ leaving his lips. Christ such minor gymnastics never used to cause such discomfort or take such effort. Must be the alcohol and nothing, he decided firmly, to do with his bleeding scalp. He collapsed down at the table and the charts where a smaller, empty bottle lay discarded within the arctic circle. He was without a glass, the cut crystal having been packed away by Jopson earlier that day, so he swigged in a most ungentlemanly manner from the neck of the bottle. Francis snorted.

‘How the mighty fall, eh?’ James commented, and pushed a strand of hair from his eyes. He had fixed upon a most amusing story and with a grin pronounced, ‘You know I had never tasted gin until the first time I visited a whore.’

Francis stared at him, ‘What?’

‘I was so damned terrified she had to ply me with the stuff to help me relax.’

‘I’m amazed you could manage the deed at all after that,’ Francis commented quietly.

‘I was fifteen, you can manage anything at that age.’

Francis smirked but said nothing.

‘Would you like to hear about it? It’s really rather funny, I was not quite the stallion I am now… well… that I was a few years ago. I daresay this expedition has rather killed things.’

‘Christ, James, no,’ Francis said firmly. James’ face fell. He would just have to keep that story for another day.

‘How old were you?’ he asked idly instead and took a swig.

In the dim light Crozier actually blushed, his pallid complexion so prone to a fiery colour when impassioned that it was unmistakable. James grinned.

‘Come Francis, we are all men here, tell all.’

‘Really James…’ Francis glanced across the cabin.

‘I’m not letting you away with it that easily. You’re a hard man to get to know, so buttoned up, so…’

Francis sighed loudly.

‘Come you must have some tales to tell. Here,’ he leaned forward onto the table, ‘I’ll trade you, tell me about your first whore and I’ll tell you about the brothel I spent three days in in Shanghai. It was a bloody orgy, Francis, women, men, opium, Christ what a…’

‘ _James!_ ’

James blinked.

‘I’m not telling you anything….’

‘You’re no fun,’ James leaned back and swigged his gin thinking vaguely of his time in China.

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Francis said softly.

‘Hmph so you say, all right have it your way, I’ll just have to keep my greatest conquests to my…’

‘No, I mean… there’s _nothing_ to tell.’

James looked at him sideways. ‘What?’

Francis was head down over the table again, both hands in front of him, picking at the frayed edges of his fingerless gloves. The blush had not receded; indeed it had deepened and he gnawed his lower lip slowly between his teeth. After a beat he flicked his eyes up to James and then looked away.

‘Francis?’

‘I was thinking of it earlier if you must know, along with a thousand other regrets…’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’ve never… I’ve never been with…’ Francis trailed off.

It took a moment to process through the mist of the gin. What had they been discussing? Whores? He’d never been with a… ‘You must have!’ James exclaimed.

‘I haven’t.’

‘You’re in the bloody navy, doxies in every port!’

Crozier slumped back into his chair. ‘Christ, I wish I’d never let you in, should have just stayed here in my bloody misery.’

James frowned. ‘It doesn’t make sense… and its an odd kind of regret if you ask me…’ he eyed the gin for answers as though the damn stuff might have an opinion of its own. Francis picked again at his gloves.

‘Explain!’ James said suddenly and put down the bottle with an exaggerated thump. ‘You’re what, _fifty_? How is that even a possibility?’

Francis rolled his eyes. ‘I went to sea at thirteen, James. I’ve been at sea since, I’ve not had… the opportunity… ’

‘I went at twelve, Francis, it did not stop me, in fact I dare say it encouraged me. One’s comrades are forever ribbing about such things, it must have been the same for you, dragged to a brothel by your shipmates, all egging you on.’

‘I doubt much about our lives has been similar, James,’ Francis said, ‘I suspect you were a rather popular young man…’

‘Of course, I never suffered from a lack of friends,’

‘Well then,’ Francis said tight lipped.

‘I remember once…’ James said fondly.

He had been about to launch himself into a long story about the time he and his mates arrived in Portsmouth one summer and several doxies so enamoured of his dark looks, had engaged in a reverse bidding war of lowered prices for his custom, ultimately ending in one offering her services for free when he caught Francis’ expression fully in the lamplight.

He looked bereft.

Damn it all. He had thought they had been doing so well. At least an hour had passed in pleasant conversation and a good deal of gin had been consumed on his part at least. He had felt the mood lift imperceivably at first and then with gathered momentum. He had made an inroads into Francis’ melancholy and had he thought, laid down some firmer bonds of friendship as they took solace in one another’s stories even in the face of what was to come and now, now he seemed to have trodden on a nerve. James exhaled slowly. God, he was an insufferable drunk and poor Francis was sober.

‘It’s none of my business, Francis, I apologise. And one might even say that to avoid congress with that sort is to be admired, not regretted.’

Francis swallowed. ‘They did drag me along,’ he said.

James paused, ‘Oh?’ he said non committal.

‘I was… seventeen or so.  And um… ‘ he cleared his throat hard, ‘Well I wasn’t terribly popular with anyone really. Considered a bit of a…’ he glanced at James who raised his eyebrows slightly, ‘Well I was rather studious I suppose, rather disciplined and um… well Irish and..’ he picked at his trousers. He was the absolute picture of discomfort.

‘You do not need to tell me this, Francis, really, I should not have pried it was rude of me…’

‘They picked out the most…’ a nervous laugh, ‘Terrifying woman I’ve ever seen, must have been forty-five if she was a day and well lived in… Christ… and me just a green lad.’

‘That was not terribly charitable of them,’ James conceded.

‘Apparently she could ‘teach me a thing or two,’’ Francis said.

‘Well there is that I suppose,’ James said doubtfully.

Francis was staring at his boots his tale apparently come to an end. James waited. After a moment Crozier seemed to rouse.

‘Anyway nothing happened,’ he said quickly. ‘It was all very humiliating, there was a good deal of laughter, from her mainly,’ he flinched, ‘And um well after that I….’

‘Did you go back?’ James asked.

‘No.’

‘Never?’

‘No,’ a sadness crossed Francis’ face. ‘Couldn’t um… face it… more of the same I mean… failure or… rejection or…’ he scrubbed at his face. ‘I’ve just never been very good at… at _that_.’

James watched him, his mouth slightly agape. Right, well if Francis had never been with a whore then there would have been other opportunities more befitting a man of sensitivity. He could retrieve this conversation yet. Somehow bolster the poor chaps confidence and stir up happy memories.

‘There must have been someone though, Francis? A sweetheart instead, something more… meaningful. Miss Cracroft was very fond of you.’

He said it kindly enough, but Francis’ eyes snapped to him quickly, ‘We never… I will not have you sully her name.’

‘Come Francis, you would not be the first sailor she has…’

‘James!’

‘Nothing happened?’

‘She… there was…. She touched me, once.’

James blinked. ‘That was it?’

‘Never even kissed me, just…. Amused herself and left.’

James’ eyes bulged. ‘She never even…?  Lord I would not have thought it of her to be so cold. And nobody else…?’

This time Francis shook his head, once.

‘But I don’t understand, I mean, Christ, look at you, you…’

Francis’ face contorted but it was no embarrassment now but anger.

‘Exactly James, look at me, look at me now and imagine me then. A stocky, pale, Irish boy with a  thick accent and a head of bright red hair. I was pock marked and freckled even then, I stammered, I had no charm, no breeding, no education, nothing. I could barely look anyone in the eye never mind kiss them…  and none of that has changed, I am but an older, portlier more miserable version of that boy. Why in hell would anyone want me?’

James reeled back in his seat at the tirade until finally Francis fell silent saved for a quiet muttering about wishing there was whiskey in the room. He seemed to fold in upon himself once more and all the work James had done to unravel his despondency seemed lost.

‘But… you have a reputation, same as all of us,’ James tried. ‘With doxies, with women…’

Francis sighed. ‘Aye and carefully constructed it is too, you can pay a whore for anything James, including company.’

‘Well, yes I know that, but… I mean you must have found one that took your fancy in all this…. Unless I mean you really did just want her company and not…’

Slowly, slowly, the truth was dawning upon James. Which men paid whores for company and constructed finely made reputations? Which men felt the need to do so, lest their truth be discovered? Men like him, whose tastes were wild even in far flung shanghai, but whose general flamboyancy and _bon viveur_ allowed him a little leeway in such foreign climes. Whose charm could allow them to be accepted in certain circles and wend their way within them with ease. Artists, writers, great literary minds and poets in hidden clubs about London, all ready and willing to invite a comely man such as James into their bosom. But for a shy man like Crozier, a naval man without connection, In Ordinary in England where such preferences were offences…

‘Oh,’ James said with the suddenness of a penny dropping into a pail. Francis looked up. ‘Christ, I had no idea.’

‘No idea about what?’ Francis said warningly.

‘Well I mean you…’ James began and then let out a breath he felt he had been holding in for days. He smiled. ‘Christ Francis, its all right, you’re amongst friends here, I just, well I’m a little surprised, you gave no inkling…’

‘Amongst friends?’ Francis said suspiciously. James took a swig of gin, flicked his hair out of his eyes.

‘Goodness, Francis, you must have bloody noticed by now.’

‘You…’

 ‘We are not all like Hickey you know, bloody predator that he is, some of us are quite capable of proper affection, of attachments, of _love_ , between men, hmm?’

‘I…you…?’

James flashed a smile at him meant as reassurance, but it seemed to result only in a widening of Francis’ terrified eyes.  He quickly restrained the grin into something less threatening. Putting down the gin he leaned forward again.

‘Oh Francis, you really have been alone, haven’t you?’ he said, ‘You have buried yourself for fear of remonstrance or rejection, for fear of what it means, no doubt. No wonder you bloody hate yourself so much, good Lord, you have not even given acknowledgement to these feelings sufficiently to even notice when there are others around you who have similar inclinations. If you had but raised your eyes from the ground, you would have seen, you need not have been lonely.’

He saw Francis jaw twitch, his wet eyes cast to the floor. ‘Yes well, it is too late now,’ he said roughly. The ship creaked and groaned, a reminder of how truly far away from it all there were and of how little it all really mattered. And yet, here was Francis, tortured by it.

‘What were you thinking of?’ James asked, ‘Earlier I mean, you said you were thinking of regrets?’

‘There are too many to list.’

‘And this was one?’ James pressed. Francis sat before him as defensive and closed as freshly caught clam, but something urged James on with his questioning, not least the memory of the first tear he saw Crozier shed upon his arrival, silent, as though he had been unaware of its falling. How often did he think of it, his loneliness? ‘Francis?’

Crozier nodded. ‘This is one,’ he said. ‘Now more than ever, now we are at the end.’

James felt the kind expression on his face melt into sorrow.

‘Tell me,’ he prompted, reaching towards Francis. The man drew his hands back an inch so that their fingers did not even brush but looked as though he might speak still. ‘Tell me,’ James said again, ‘What you feel?’

‘My skin burns,’ Francis said softly, ‘like a hunger. To… to be held. I’ve never, nobody ever… not like that.’

James pressed his lips together to stop his eyes from burning. ‘Oh, Francis.’

Behind him, through the window, James caught the dim lights of _Erebus_ a mile away and saw the subtle changes in the sky. The dawn was coming, stars fading, the streaks of green aurora lost, but it was not yet day. He thought of all the winters Francis had spent upon the _Terror_ , and the ships that went before, surrounded by people, yet utterly alone, his impersonal naval rooms back in London, his rejection at the hands of Miss Cracroft.

God, it was not fair, it was not fair at all. What he asked for was not much, just a basic human need, and not even in truth its baser form, but the simplicity of touch, of comfort, of knowing someone cherished him. And Lord did they not all need that, more now than ever?  James had lain with many men and women, with doxies and sweethearts both, but, here in the wastes, it was a lover’s touch he craved. Oh, for a memory he could keep close at times such as those that lay ahead, when all else was taken from him. Those moments were the very essence of a life, and he realised with grief that Francis’s memories were empty of them.  

He could not bear it. James chewed his lips a minute, his gaze tracing the lines of sadness on Crozier’s face. He was handsome, in his way, in the kindness of his eyes. Why had no-one seen it? Why had no-one shown him?

Slowly James pushed away from the table and stood by Francis’ chair.

‘Get up,’ he said quietly. Crozier shook his head sadly.

‘I’ll not have your pity, James.’

‘I’ll not have your argument, now stand.’

He thought he would have to reason further but to his surprise Francis did as he was told and stood before him, his hands at his back and head bowed as though chastised. James ran his fingers down his upper arms. He could almost feel the ache of need within him through his uniform.

‘You are not on parade, man,’ he teased gently, ‘come,’ he tugged him flush against his waistcoat, cream against blue, and slipped his arms about him. For a moment Francis stood stiffly and then he felt him return the embrace, tentatively at first and then with strength, circling James’s back. The warmth of his cheek pressed against James’, the fine scratch of stubble at his jaw.

James nosed at his neck, up towards his ear and then gently, so gently lest Francis balk and extract himself, James pressed his lips to his pulse. Crozier sighed and something in his muscles seemed to give way at last. James ran a hand down to capture Francis’s fingers and pulled back, nodded to the sleeping berth with a questioning look. Francis seemed frozen, glancing between the berth and the table, anywhere but James himself but he finally nodded, a hard swallow in his throat. He briefly closed his eyes with something of relief and sorrow both, lost, but desperate to comply and so far out of his depth it made James’ heart hurt. Lifting his hand he touched his face again, dragged a thumb along Francis’ lip until his warm breath hit his palm.

Francis looked towards the door of the Great Cabin, a whisper of concern in his features.

‘It’s not morning yet,’ James murmured against him, ‘There’s still time.’

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It grew again. Its turning into the longest love scene I've ever written. Here's part one.

James brought the lamp into the berth but in the tighter space it seemed to glow all the more brightly, highlighting the twist of anxiety in Francis’s features as he watched his second unbutton his waistcoat. He had not even removed the garment when Francis raised his protest.

‘Can’t we do without that thing?’ he asked, his voice gruff.

‘No,’ James said simply, but he turned down the flame a little. Francis fidgeted by the open door, until James leaned past him and slid it shut. He ran one hand soothingly over his chest, catching the buttons of his uniform beneath his fingers and then stopped, pressed his palm to Francis’ ribs.

‘Christ man, you are shaking.’

‘Perhaps this is not a good idea,’ the scrape of boots on wood as Crozier shifted backwards a fraction and beneath his hand James felt his heart thump rapidly. He waited, but Francis made no bid to move further. Slowly James undid a button on his jacket, then another, his eyes never leaving Francis’ face. Hesitantly he saw Crozier’s fingers rise to help him.

‘Ah,’ James admonished softly, ‘’Tis my job,’ and the fingers fell away. He removed the jacket and hung it carefully over the chair by Crozier’s private desk intent on unwrapping his First in as seductive a manner as possible will all effort channelled upon making him feel desirable at last.

When he turned back his good intentions stumbled, quite o’ertaken by the sight before him. Francis was framed by the dark oak of the door. His waistcoat neat about his figure, the white sleeves of his shirt full at the wrist and the shoulder. Not knowing quite what he must do with his hands he had folded them behind him once more and stood now, his sandy forelock hanging over his eyes as he gazed at the floor. Something in the lamplight lent warmth to his skin and when he flicked his gaze to James his eyes sparkled. Grey-blue but oh so dark. James was lost for words.

‘Lord,’ he breathed and perched upon the desk.

‘What are you doing?’ Francis asked, awkwardly tapping his hands against the door behind him.

‘Looking at you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to,’ James lifted a finger, ‘Undo the waistcoat.’

‘I thought that was your job.’ Francis countered.

James smiled fondly. ‘Indulge me.’

Fumbling, the shake in his hands visible even from across the berth, Crozier undid the thing, his fingers tangling in the chain of his watch briefly before he extracted himself clumsily and tossed the garment upon the bed. James bit his lips so as not to chuckle as Francis gave him a self-conscious glare.

‘The cravat,’ he instructed. Francis tugged it resentfully from his throat.

‘And… buttons...’ James flicked his fingers in the direction of Francis’ chest.

Crozier looked down somewhat nervously and experimentally undid the top three pearl buttons of his shirt. James could see the edges of his undershirt beneath, but more importantly a triangle of pale skin under his throat, the shine of fine curled hair upon his chest, spun silver in the light. James felt heat spool to his lower parts, wondering how best to approach his next step and then, unconsciously Francis’ tongue darted to wet his own lips and all James could do was desire them.

James slid off the desk and crossed the berth in a stride, his hands firm about Francis’ waist, soft linen and softer flesh at his fingertips, tugging him close. Crozier let out a little noise of surprise, his lips parting and then James was on them, pushing Francis against the door with the force of his hips.

He kissed him like he was drowning, peppering his skin with a passion he had not felt for years, and something about the way Francis was pressing back against him sparked desires which had laid dormant for months. James cupped Crozier’s face in one palm, ground his pelvis deep against Francis and when the man reacted, pushed his tongue hard and deep and needy into the heat of his mouth. There was a beat of hesitation and then Francis kissed back, unpractised, sloppy but falling quickly into rhythm, nipping at James’s lower lip as his rough hands gripped his shoulders. James felt a surge of need pour down his body, to a sphere of keen fire at his groin and wanting more, urgently, he slid both hands suddenly under Francis’ braces, flipping them to the side, tugging at his shirt, until finally he could slide his palms down his back under the waistband of his trousers.

Francis pushed back suddenly with all the strength and force one might expect from a naval officer and James staggered, catching himself on the desk.

‘What the…?’ He panted.

Francis was flushed and breathless, his shirt undone, braces akimbo and an unmistakable bulge of need beneath the panel of his trousers. He would not look at James.

‘Francis?’

Crozier briefly pinched the bridge of his nose and the flattened his palm against his forehead. He shut his eyes. He looked utterly torn, anguished, grappling for words through a fog of no doubt fairly overwhelming desire but wrestling with some inner torment still.

James let out a small but sympathetic sigh. He stepped back towards him, measured and slow and carefully put his arms about his shoulders to draw him in.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, ‘I got a bit…. Well it’s been a while. I lost myself in you a little there, hmm?’

‘This is a mistake,’ Francis muttered against him, ‘This is a mistake and I don’t know what I’m doing or…’ he sounded absolutely wretched, trembling against James, hot and aroused, ‘I can’t think, James, I can’t think what’s right anymore…’

‘Shh, you do not need to think, Francis, and for my part I can only apologise. I was lost in the moment, I forget this is all so very new to you.’

‘I’m doing this wrong,’ Francis said suddenly, ‘I have not a clue, I don’t know how to please you, James.’

‘You…. _That’s_ what worries you?’ James asked askance.

Francis managed a nod.

‘Lord I thought perhaps you were having second thoughts, well, I must say then I am relieved,’ James said. Francis peered at him from under his fingers, still steepled on his brow as though as headache bothered him.

James regarded him kindly, ‘Francis, you do please me, you do, that’s the thing, you please me very much. So much, in fact that I can hardly restrain myself it seems,’ he chuckled, ‘Come,’ he shirked his waistcoat and set about stripping off his increasingly stifling sweater, ‘Let us start again. It might help if you take off those boots and um…’ he looked around, began folding back the covers of the bed, ‘Well we don’t want to freeze do we, let’s get to bed. For all that heated perpendicular frottage can be a lot of fun, it may help if we are horizontal and somewhat more naked,’ he smiled. Francis looked at him like he had gone mad.

‘Heated perp…. _Naked_?’ Francis stuttered. ‘We’re in the middle of the arctic James, we’ll freeze our bollocks off if we start…’

James smirked, and shucked off his undershirt quickly followed by his trousers. It was as Francis stated, bloody freezing, but it might cool his ardour enough to be more patient and he was fairly sure he could warm them up quickly if needs be. Besides, the stricken and stunned look upon Francis’ face at the sight of his stark naked commander in all his glory would be worth the brief inconvenience of a chill. He glanced up to enjoy it.

But Crozier was no gaping awkwardly at all.

‘Francis?’ James stood by the bed, one hand upon the shelf above and his hair before his eyes as he peered at his Captain, flushed, dishevelled still from their moment by the door, half out of his own clothes, but rapt and with such a look of tender want in his eyes that for a moment James could hardly breathe.

‘You’re…’ Francis started, his gaze trickling down over James’ body. It lingered on the muscles of his arms and chest, the slight swell of his belly, the toned shape of his legs and then snagged upon his cock, hard and proud even in the cold air.  James felt himself twitch under his scrutiny and then as quickly as Francis’ desires had escaped, he drew them back again and looked away, ‘Get in, you’ll freeze.’

 

 

It took longer to encourage Francis out of his remaining clothes but eventually James managed on the proviso that he lay within the bunk and make no comment whatsoever and that Francis might join him while still wearing his small clothes. It was painful to witness, and for more reasons that James could muster in his present state of arousal for both the ache in his cock and that of his heart seemed to compete as he watched Francis wrestle with his self-loathing and crippling tendency to shyness. Really, James thought as he lay under the blankets and watched Francis slowly strip away his undershirt, the man had nothing to fear.

Even with his back to him James could see the definition of Francis shoulders and suspected there was similar strength in his chest. He was under no illusion that Crozier was anything other than middle aged, soft about the middle and receding about the temples but he could also see a rakish sort of charm about his features, the cock of his bloody eyebrow, the subtle cleft of his chin, the tone that his fine muscles still held after years of heavy physical work. He had not gone to seed like those of his age within the admiralty, he still did his part about the ships and when he finally peeled away his navy trousers it was a pleasant surprise to see their well filled material covered a comely thigh of solid shapely flesh.  Not to mention his backside. James ran an eye appreciate down the curve of covered buttocks and wished somewhat impatiently he could strip it all away and reveal what he was sure was a finely sculpted delight beneath.

As though hearing the lascivious thoughts within his head, Francis turned and looked awkwardly down at where James leaned across the covers, pining them with one arm to prevent him laying beneath them quite yet.

‘James,’ Francis said irritably and James watched his nipples harden in the cold, taut and pink against his pale skin.

‘Just a moment.’

‘You promised,’ a slight flex of his stomach. James wondered if he was breathing in to hide the softness there, he smiled at the self-conscious little gesture and trailed his eyes down the line of hair which descended to his small clothes; golden he could see now in the light, like the hair upon his head. He could look at him for an age, he decided, and from all angles, but he must not let the man catch cold or indeed lose what flimsy trust he had built. He flipped back the blankets at last and Francis all but dived in.

James felt moderately guilty about keeping him waiting when he felt the chilled flesh beside him and the slight shiver of Crozier’s limbs, so his first move was to shift about the bunk until he could bring himself to lay between Francis’s legs, chest to chest, and warm him. He did not expect the little sound that escaped Francis’s lips. Not desire exactly, nor surprise, but a tiny noise of something akin to distress, like a sob. James looked down into his face in concern, but Francis turned his head.  James softly nosed his temple while the heat of him melted through his skin.

‘Francis?’ he murmured and the body beneath moved. A pair of arms encircled him and brought him as close as could be possible. A warm thigh lifted against his left hip and then the same upon the right until the pair were locked together. Gently Crozier rubbed his cheek against the smooth skin of James’ neck, nestling in uncharacteristic tenderness.

‘I never knew how…. Soft it feels,’ Francis tried to explain, ‘To be with someone this way.’

James breathed away his relief, remembering the first time years ago he had felt his skin on the skin of another, the embrace of a lover. ‘Yes… Francis,’ he kissed beneath his ear with a smile. ‘Yes, it is exquisite.’

‘I feel… safe.’ Francis said hesitantly.

James raised his eyebrows at the confession but did nothing to give away his surprise to Francis. Lord the man was melting under him, a lifetime of unrequited need just pouring forth. If he had guessed just weeks before what a display of vulnerability might lay before him he might have laughed but by Christ he would not hurt the man now, not at his most open.

‘I want…’ Francis muttered. James felt a hand slip from his neck and reach under the covers. Picking up on the motion he helped Francis to remove the last of his small clothes and then settled back above him, the soft press of skin now mingled with a firmer heavier heat between their legs, the cushion of the hair about their privates, the strength of Crozier’s thighs about his hips.  Francis arched under him gently, content to be held for a moment longer and James felt the urgent press of desire dissolve a touch. He needed this. They both needed this. A tiny moment of peace in a safe harbour of their own making. He pulled the covers to in their cocoon and slowly carded his fingers through Francis’s hair, intimate and unhurried. The man’s eyes were closed, the slightest smile upon his lips and James felt an odd surge of emotion run through him to know that he had given him that gift.

This was not turning out quite how he planned, James reflected as the tender ache in his chest returned. He had intended only to seek a little solace, drive the loneliness from his friend, but here instead James found himself watching entranced, as the tension seeped from Francis’ face and was replaced by something gentle and fulfilled.

Watching even as the whole of their frozen world, thawed within their hearts.


	4. Chapter 4

James’ lips were bruised with kisses, swollen and sensitive against the flesh of Francis’ stomach as he mouthed a trail to his belly button and beyond. He listened with joy as Crozier groaned above him, the sound punctuated by fleeting desperate breaths as he fought back the sound. Timeless intimacy had given way to mounting need and now Francis bucked beneath James’s torso, the leaking tip of his hard cock smearing wetness across his clavicle.

‘Christ… James… please…’

James formed a kiss about his smile and tongued the hollow of his hipbone, his shoulder nudging against Francis’s straining prick. A hand fell heavily to his back and urged him forward.

‘Please… I can’t… I need…’

Humming against his skin, James dragged a hand up his flank, a thumb over his nipple, fingers flitting playfully over his skin. He should not tease so cruelly, but oh he had never fathomed that Crozier could be so undone by his mouth alone, and he had not even begun his ministrations in earnest.

A panting above drew him off his task and he glanced upwards briefly, lifting the blankets enough to catch a glimpse of Francis’ face flush in the lamplight, lips parted and wet, eyes closed. His brow was furrowed in concentration, holding off or willing on his completion, it was hard to tell, but the sight sent rivulets of keen arousal to James already aching parts. He wanted to see, the moment of release, he wanted Francis to spend more than anything.

Pushing aside the covers, relieving the humidity of the cave he had created, he resumed his task, his tongue wet on sweat misted skin, and quickly moved down Francis’ body. The reaction was electric, Croziers hips surging upwards as his cock came into contact once again with James’ chest, dragging himself against the friction desperately with a high whine. James laid a forearm across his belly, shifted his weight and nudged gently at his prick.

‘Fuck!’

He could not leave him thus tormented, he thought vaguely, and though it was but early in proceedings he felt sure that years of neglect would leave Francis hungry for more even if he finished now. James’ mouth felt wet and hot even to himself and he took Francis in.

It took him all his strength to keep him flat as Francis arched beneath him, a strangled cry sharp about the room. James splayed the fingers of his hand against his belly and pressed as though to still him and the cry died off a little, but the heavy breaths above guided him on. He laved the length of his cock once and a surge of wetness greeted him at the tip. Christ he was so close, the grip oh his hand upon James’ shoulder tight and fierce with all the tautness of each straining muscle. He could feel his stomach rigid under his hand, the tremors there within. No more torture then, he wound his hand about the base and slid his fingers over his balls, feeling them hitch heavily at the first touch. Opening his throat best he could James dipped low, pressed his tongue wetly around the head, circling and sucking hard, harder.

‘Oh… _oh_ …’

Francis’s thighs shook about him, the jerking of his hips irregular and just as James quickened his pace, increased his suction, he felt Crozier seize the hand upon his belly, fumbling to entwine his fingers. James glanced up, spied the hot flush spreading over Francis’ chest as he arched back against the pillow and then a flood within his mouth, thick and hot and bitter as Francis thrust up into him helplessly, a rough cry spilling from him. Again. Again.

He slumped back a moment later as James carefully removed himself, letting his tongue trail over the oversensitive flesh, swallowing away the last of his seed and easing himself back over Francis to gaze upon his face. His own prick was sorely throbbing now, the ache of need tight about his stones and he could feel his breath coming raggedly, his hips moving of their own direction against the body now wrapped about his own. But oh, he would not interrupt this moment for anything. Francis was utterly boneless, a glow about his cheeks and sweat beading each crease upon his face. His chest still heaving he blindly felt for James and pulled him close, burying his head against his shoulder with a murmur.

James tipped them both so they might lay side by side and let him float, his fingertips walking gentle paths across his hip. Francis made a tiny noise of protest, then rested his palm against James’ heart, his thumb tapping subconsciously to the beat of it. At peace with Crozier’s afterglow, but still fraught with restlessness himself, James again walked his fingers and this time Francis flinched unmistakably.

‘Sensitive?’ James hummed, amused.

‘Must you?’

James wriggled his fingers and Francis squirmed. ‘Interesting,’ James said.

‘Stop it.’

He stopped, pressed his nose into Francis’s damp hair and breathed him in. ‘God, you smell incredible,’ he whispered hoarsely, and let his hand wander more firmly this time along Francis’ flank. He cupped his buttock and squeezed. ‘Of musk and sweat and _man_ ,’ he mumbled.  Crozier drew back and looked at him quizzically but James ignored the amused tilt of his eyebrow and mouthed at his neck, ‘Need you,’ he blurted against his skin, ‘God, I fucking need you, Francis.’

He heard Crozier’s breath leave him.

‘Christ, James are you…?’

The lull was over. A torrent of arousal left James no option. Suddenly as desperate as he ever had been, he flipped Francis onto his back and crawled atop, pinning him, mouthing him, his hips working between his legs. His cock was gripped within a vice of want, he could not find enough purchase, pressing for friction against Francis, now soft and damp under him. He let out a high whine of frustration, felt his limbs tremble, tears at the corners of his eyes.

‘Want you,’ he managed, his hand snaking down between them, his fingers ghosting over Francis’s stones and behind to his ultimate goal, ‘Please… God… want… _so much_ …. Francis.’

‘I….’ something about the timber of his voice forced James to look at him through a haze of unfocused desire. ‘I… don’t know how, James.’ Francis looked at him helplessly.

‘Christ,’ James said suddenly bereft, ‘I’m sorry… I’m sorry Francis… this is too much to ask… too soon... I… I’m not thinking, you are not ready I…’

‘James, I’ve waited fifty odd years for this, I’m bloody ready,’ Francis snapped. James stared at him. Francis raised his eyebrows emphatically as though the man he lay with was a moron and a veritable gale of laughter hit James hard in his gut just above the throbbing desire he was trying so hard to ignore. ‘Just… just tell me what to do,’ Francis said, exasperated but with no malice to his frustration. ‘Christ, I have not the faintest idea, James, but that you are half mad with lust and need attention! And I would give it!’

Still tittering James looked at him fondly, ‘I’m sorry Francis.’

Crozier smiled his bashful gap-toothed smile and then looked up at him somewhat playfully. ‘At least I suppose I can get you half mad with lust,’ he observed shyly.

‘Oh, that’s certainly not an issue,’ James leaned one leg out of bed and began rummaging through the drawers of Crozier’s little cabinet. They were frustratingly empty.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Oil, salve, something, you must have something here…’

‘What?’

‘Well you’re a man are you not, don’t we all keep these things by our bedside?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Francis said.

James looked at him quickly. ‘Yes. You bloody do,’ he cautioned. ‘You’ve been alone at sea for years, Francis, you are as familiar with a pot of salve as I, probably more so.’

Francis looked at him in mock outrage.

‘Well?’ James said.

‘It’s in the drawer under the bed, the rest has been packed,’ Francis muttered.

James smirked and unlocked the private compartment, found what he sought and returned to the warmth of their blankets. Slicking up his neglected cock and then his fingers he turned to find Francis watching him peacefully.

‘Are you certain?’ James asked.

‘I am.’

‘I mean, it may be rather uncomfortable at first, you may not like it at all, you might prefer perhaps if you were to…’

‘James,’ his voice was unbearably gentle, even with the gravel of a lifetime of command. ‘Please, it…. it is as though for all these years I have been locked away in darkness and you have come to find me. I need this… you… for us to be as one.’

His look was absolutely bare, a fleeting glimpse beyond the Captain’s mask and then he glanced away embarrassed, searching, James realised, for something else to say, for something that would cast a veil over the exposed part of his heart lest it be forsaken.

‘Wait,’ James said, moving over him, ‘Don’t hide, I want to see you, Francis,’ and he smiled, tipping his head towards the desk, ‘tis why I brought the lamp.’

 

When he remembered it, it was a swirl of breath and heat and sweat. Of stifled moans and tight sweet warmth. Of joined hands and joined mouths, entreaties and supplications. Of the feel of skin upon skin, of arms about his neck and hands about his waist, of the thrust and grind of bone under bone cushioned by the velvet touch of flesh. Of glimpses here and there of tiny details. The flecks of colour in Francis’ eyes, the creases of his lips, the shine of wet upon a tongue. Of the feel of pores beneath James’ fingertips and the slide of skin over hard arousal, stiff between them, aching, hot. When he remembered it was all scent and feeling and sound.

They finished together, in the end, though how James had paced himself at all was a mystery still, but pace himself he did, slowly working Francis through undiscovered pleasures neglected in his body for so long. A secret place he never knew of, a new form of heat within, to counter the hard keening of his cock and to draw out his satisfaction in deep intense waves. When he tightened finally around him James bit down upon his shoulder in relief, the tension leaving him at last, the burn of his spending painful at first then a sweet bliss; a tearing, then gliding as a thousand lights danced behind his eyes and Francis welcomed him within.

He had thought perhaps that Francis would be the one to cry. Decades of waiting, years of loneliness relieved. He thought that he would understand the power of it all and hold him in his arms to keep him safe, and nurse him through it, explain that sometimes these things happened. The voice of his experience would be a soothing balm to the man who had not known touch.

But it had been him, weakened by his climax and clinging to Francis below, quite unable to stop the tears that spilled forth unbidden even as he lay still within his lover, hard but fading. And it had been Francis who had whispered words of comfort, for was it not always Francis in the end? James did not know for what he wept, perhaps the beauty of the moment or the gift that he had given shining bright in Francis’ eyes, but he suspected it had something to do with the briefness of their future and the rising of the sun.

 

 

Upon a ridge of ice a few miles from the ships, James Fitzjames stood looking West and waiting for his Captain. It was late and twilight was just falling, as much as it would in these final days of night. Crozier was last to leave the _Terror,_ though _Erebus_ had been empty close to a day. James had missed him, though he knew that their intimacy could not be entered into upon the long march, but his presence was enough, he felt, to offer comfort and his own was a balm to loneliness. There were bound together now, for what time was left, but there was as yet no sign of the man upon the bleak and grey horizon. James could not see the ships at all, between the dying daylight and the distance and the removal of the lamps.

‘Dr Goodsir?’ James asked, and the man at his side looked keenly to him for command.

‘What do you know about fireflies?’

‘Fireflies sir?’ Harry said, baffled.

James chuckled, ‘Apart from that we are unlikely to find any here,’ he conceded, ‘What of their behaviours, their light?’

‘Well they are rather fascinating, sir,’ Goodsir said, now clearly entering his element. ‘I read a treatise shortly before our departure from Greenhithe on the _Lampyridae_ , they discover new species every day and there are many theories about their lights, sir.’

‘Tell me,’ said James scanning the horizon.

‘Well some cultures believe them to be the spirits of the dead,’ Goodsir said rather glumly, ‘Come to watch over their relatives and so on, you find them often in a graveyard it is said.’

‘How sad,’ James said with a heaviness within, ‘rather beautiful, but sad.’ He raised his telescope to the landscape and thought he caught the barest glimpse of figures moving on the ice. ‘Go on though,  what is your theory? I suppose it is much more scientific.’ He looked back at Goodsir with goodnatured expectation but the man looked embarrassed.

‘Not very scientific I fear, more rooted in nature’s need for… companionship,’ Goodsir said shyly.

‘Well, go on…’ James coaxed. Harry took a breath.

‘The creatures survive but a season and, like all living things, must bond in pairs for their lives to be fulfilled, but they are so very small, in the landscapes in which they live, great wildernesses, some of them, and so they could become quite lost to each other.  In the daylight they all but vanish, you would not see them sir… so I believe they have decided, in their own way, that with their time being so short…’

‘Yes, Mr Goodsir?’

‘That they will burn their lights brightly, so that they may find one another, in the dark.’

James smiled at the image, and turning back to the horizon at last he spotted Francis. He was carrying a lantern.


End file.
